The Varying Degrees of Smackitude
by Rusty Halos
Summary: Slytherins 'spontaneously' combust, Sirius falls in love with a girl that wants to turn him into a toilet, McGonagall becomes a Muggle stripper, James forces Lily to be Seeker in exchange for anything she wants; it's 6th year and life only gets crazier.
1. Smack of the Day

**The Varying Degrees of Smackitude**

By RH

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**Warning**: Strong language and sexual themes, though not quite enough to make this fic M.

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Chapter One: Smack of the Day

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_  
__In fields where nothing grew but weeds,__  
__I found a flower at my feet,__  
__bending there in my direction.__  
__I wrapped a hand around its stem__  
__and pulled until the roots gave in,__  
__finding there what I've been missing._

"The Good Left Undone," Rise Against

* * *

Sirius couldn't remember the girl's name for the life of him.

It wasn't Anna.

It wasn't Mary.

It wasn't Bellatrix (thank God).

Now if he could just think of what it _was_…

"_Sirius_!" said girl moaned, quite loudly. Sirius imagined the people passing by the broom cupboard in the north corner of the fourth floor shooting it derisive glances.

"Yes?" he said.

"Aren't we here for a _reason_?" she whispered into his ear, and he could feel her grin against his skin in the musty half-darkness. "And isn't that reason beyond first base?"

He made a noncommittal sound in his throat.

It wasn't that he didn't want to snog _her_ senseless, exactly. She was pretty, she wasn't a complete bitch, and she was enthusiastic. In other words, she was exactly his type. It was just that, at the moment, he couldn't quite work up the will to acquiesce to her seductive suggestions.

And that was why he was trying to remember her name. Any girl that managed to make him lose sight of the blessing that was a beautiful, willing, female was definitely going on Sirius Black's Do Not Attempt Again List.

"Sirius!"

This time it wasn't not-Anna-Mary-or-Bellatrix-(thank god), but someone from outside the cupboard.

NAMoB(tg)—Sirius concluded that this would be an adequate name to put on his list—let out a little _hmph_.

"Go away," she called back. "We're a little bit…ah…_busy_."

"You don't say," the person said dryly.

Sirius cleared his throat, and he could feel NAMoB(tg) turning to look at him.

"I'm sorry," he said, injecting copious amounts of his patented Sincere Regret into his voice, and shaking his dark hair back, revealing his handsome features, for good measure. "But this is important. I _must_ go."

He disentangled his limbs from hers, and dramatically pushed open the cupboard door. He took one look at the tall, blue-eyed girl standing impatiently outside, smirked, then dragged her down the hall and around the corner, missing the vicious glare NAMoB(tg) sent after them.

"Anthony, you have impeccable timing," Sirius grinned. "I was about to resort to one of my one man escape techniques, but if I use those too much, they lose their effectiveness."

The girl snorted, pushing her long dark blonde hair out of her face. "I do try. Though I don't see what the problem was. Wasn't that Lissa Booth?"

"No idea," Sirius said promptly. "I named her NAMoB(tg). _You_ may call her Namby for short."

"It was Lissa. And she's hot," the girl stated matter-of-factly. The latter part of Sirius' statement didn't even earn a raised eyebrow. "So again: where's the problem here?"

Sirius shrugged. "All I know is that she's going on Sirius Black's Do Not Attempt Again List."

Unfortunately, he had chosen to say this just as Lissa rounded the corner in a huff, having taken a moment to straighten out her clothes.

Lissa let out a gasp of rage, and before Sirius could remove his precious face from her range, she slapped him…hard.

The girl made a sympathetic face at Lissa. "I would do that too, except I've got this Charms project to do with him."

Lissa looked a little too worked up to respond, so the girl gently shooed her away, suggesting a visit to the kitchens for some Butterbeer, or perhaps several gallons of ice cream and a sharp knife, should she feel any murderous stirrings.

"Hey, you're supposed to be _my_ friend!" Sirius yelped. "You can't go around telling people where to find sharp knives! I'll be dead within the week! You wouldn't _really_ want to see this" he gestured at his chiseled face "gone to waste before, would you?!"

The girl look unimpressed, one eyebrow quirking over her pale blue eyes. "Well, I guess I'll have to stop until the Charms project is finished."

"You don't actually expect me to do it, do you?" Sirius whined.

"You will if you don't want to be banned from Zonko's for the year."

Sirius' eyes narrowed, and he growled at her.

"That was a _low blow_, Anthony. It isn't bloody fair that your brother owns it," he grumbled.

The girl smiled a superior smile, a flash of white teeth and plush lips.

"Pagan Anthony is the name, winning is the game," she said cheerfully. "And by the way, you've got a rather angry red hand print on your cheek. Now about that project…"

* * *

An hour and barely six inches into their three foot long paper later, Pagan shot a disgruntled look at Sirius. Snoring that way could _not_ be healthy.

She cast a Silencio, but the in and out of his breathing was still fluttering her papers. Strands of her not quite blonde, not quite brown, crazy long hair were falling out of her hasty bun and into her face. She blew at one unsuccessfully.

Sighing, she pillowed her head on the "Altering Persones and Bodiley Functions" chapter of _Charmes for the Moderne Wizarde_ (circa 1432).

One little nap couldn't hurt. And it wasn't like Sirius would notice, anyways.

* * *

When she jolted awake a few minutes later, it was because something pointy was being jabbed into her ribs.

However, she didn't hear anything, and so didn't open her eyes, hoping that it was just a book and that she could go back to sleep.

But the poking didn't stop.

She whipped around to find Sirius jabbing furiously at her, mouthing what looked to be rather unpleasant words.

Mouthing?

_Oohhhh….right._

She smirked, fingering the two wands in her pocket.

"You know, Sirius," she said conversationally. "I think a good amount of people would be rather happy with this development."

He glared, gray eyes narrowing. When this didn't have any effect, he switched tactics.

"I apologize, but you're going to have to try again," Pagan said amusedly as she watched him pout innocently at her. She could safely say that expression would've turned three-quarters of the girls at Hogwarts into jelly. "Sick dog isn't going to work."

Sirius let out what would have been a humph, then crossed his arms.

After a moment, his face lit up. He shook his dark hair casually out of his gray eyes, leant over, and kissed her on the lips.

Pagan smiled, but swiftly detached her face from his.

"Seriously—God, it's lovely that you can't make that pun—try again. I've had _that_ before."

Sirius glared harder, and waved his arms about while mouthing something indistinguishable.

"Sorry, missed that." She gave a little, inconspicuous flick with her wand.

"I SAID, FUCK OFF, ANTHONY!!!" Sirius screamed.

Madam Pince was there before he could even finish making his horrified expression, and she grabbed hold of his ear.

"MR. BLACK!!! I WILL _NOT_" she twisted his ear "TOLERATE" again "_SCREAMING_ AND FILTHY LANGUAGE" and again "IN THIS LIBRARY, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"OW! Bloody hell, Irmy, lemme go—,"

"I WILL SIMPLY NOT TOLERATE IT!"

"Alright, alright, Irmy, untwist your panties—,"

"MY NAME IS _MADAME PINCE_, MR. BLACK! DETENTION FOR A WEEK! YOU ARE DISTURBING THE PEACE!"

Madam Pince glared at him, seething, before sweeping off like a giant black bat.

Sirius put his hand up to his ear, and winced.

"That old hag's insane," he grumbled. "Fuck it all, Anthony, I'm going to get you back."

Pagan dimpled, and shook all of her hair out of her lopsided bun.

"Bring it on. And help me with the project, for God's sake!"

Sirius ignored her words, and grinned slowly, predatorily, reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ears.

"Alright, I'll help," he said, his voice getting huskier. "But only if you meet me at the broom closet where you so politely interrupted me tonight."

No one Pagan knew was completely immune to Sirius' charm, but she'd built up enough immunity after years of casual, spontaneous flings to remember that she'd already made plans for the night.

"No can do, Black. I'm going out with Shane Calloway tonight, and if all goes well, you're going to have to find a new fuck buddy for a while," she said, halfway apologetic.

Sirius sighed melodramatically, and mockingly clutched at his heart.

"Oh _fine_. I'll proposition Marlene then," he said, and she could see the wicked glint in his eyes. "Since it looks like you'll be denying me for a while."

Pagan laughed. "Only if it goes well."

"Why won't it?" Sirius said breezily, pulling a stack of her notes towards him, and frowning down at it. "His DUH is equal-slash-lower than yours. What in the name of Merlin's favorite pointy hat is a Bumboogler Charm?"

"Pardon? His DUH? And I don't remember anything about a Bumboogler Charm."

"DUH," Sirius said in a monotone, as if reciting something for a professor. "Degrees of Ultimate Hotness—copyright Sirius Black, patent pending. And are you sure about that Bumboog—oh! Right, it says Bendy Nose. Anthony, your handwriting is simply abominable."

"Bendy…nose?" Pagan repeated, sidetracked. "I think you need to try that again, Black. And that's print!!! How in the world can you misread print?!"

Sirius squinted at the parchment again. "Is it perhaps Beezlybu—,"

"No."

"Billywi—,"

"No."

"Then it must be—,"

"_No_."

Exasperated, Pagan pulled the parchment towards her, despite Sirius' protests.

"It says Blemish Eraser, Black!" She stared incredulously at him. "How on earth did you get Bumboogler? Or Beezlybub? Or anything _besides_ Blemish Eraser?!"

Sirius shrugged. "When your DUH is too high, it has adverse effects on your eyesight. Or at least, that's what the world's leading Healers suspect. Why, there was study some weeks ago that detailed quite eloquently the _exact_ correlation between—,"

"I thought you invented DUH, Black."

"Why, lovely Pagan, I did indeed do just that."

"Then how do the world's leading Healers know—or in fact, care—about it?"

Sirius blinked once. Twice. "Huh. I'm not quite sure, really. Perhaps Moony owled them with my brilliant discovery and they were so excited about it that they—,"

Pagan put her hand over his mouth, but he kept on making indistinguishable, muffled sounds.

"Black," she said patiently, as if she were explaining particle physics to a child. "Have you, in fact, gone round the bend? Because I feel that I should have been informed if that was the case. How safe can it be for me to be around someone that's gone round the bend? You're jeopardizing my personal safety here."

Sirius removed her hand, and paused to think for a moment, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

"Well, the last time I checked, I was still behind the bend. But since then, I have encountered a beautiful woman whom I did not want to shag, was a mute, and had my ear nearly taken off by an old bat. So, my dear Pagan, I'm not entirely sure how to answer your question."

Pagan snorted, and suddenly noticed that the light streaming through the library's windows was no longer the bright yellow of afternoon.

"Aw _shit_, Sirius, we've got to get working!" she said frantically. "Here, take this," she shoved a heavy tome entitled _Charmingly Charmable Charms Objects_ at him, "and make me a list of charms listed under chapters sixteen through forty two!"

Sirius looked faint. "The things I'll do for you, Anthony."

"You're doing this because otherwise you'll be out of Dungbombs for—,"

"Don't say it!" Sirius interrupted hastily. "I'll do it, I'll do it!"

TBC

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**A/N:** Please drop me a review and tell me what you think! Just a bit of light groundwork for the first chapter.

**Original summary:** When Sirius Black finally fell in love, it wasn't a cliché. It wasn't with an Innocent Virgin, a Childhood Friend, a Fangirl, His Best Mate's Sister, an Undiscovered Beauty, a Sworn Enemy,_ or _Lily's Best Friend. It wasn't earth-shattering, heart-stopping, or time-slowing. It wasn't perfect, and it definitely was not a fairytale. In fact, he possibly would never have known if it hadn't quite literally smacked him cross the face.


	2. Smack of the Week

**The Varying Degrees of Smackitude**

By RH

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**A/N**: Thank you so much for the reviews! :) I hope you guys enjoy the chapter…

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable places/objects/Sirius Blacks/etc. are mines.

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Chapter Two: Smack of the Week

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The thing about bad days, Sirius Black reflected, as he sat sullenly on one of the staircases, swigging Butterbeer, was that they never started out that bad. Perhaps that's what added to their lethalness—when the bloody bastards decided to change face, they acted faster than James when he'd caught Evans snogging Currtis McLaggen in the broom cupboard in the north corner of the fourth floor fifth year, and gave just about the same amount of warning.

Thinking about the broom cupboard in the north corner of the fourth floor brought him back around to sulking over his incredibly bad, useless, completely-devoid-of-any-satisfaction-whatsoever bad day. It was the kind of day where chocolate cake looked unappetizing, Moony winced with every movement against his usual monthly bandages, and Evans shot Prongs down more than twice. And it had started out so _innocently_ too.

_That just goes to show,_ he thought moodily, _that you simply can't trust days_.

Why, everything had been going along just fine—he'd even been minding his own business for once—when all of a sudden, the day had flipped him the bird and pranced off into Hogsmeade to grab some Firewhiskey and charm a kiss from Rosmerta.

It had started out with that blasted Namby. He was still at a loss to explain why exactly he found himself uninterested in her. But fine, Sirius was willing to roll with the punches. He would simply jot her down on the List, and move on.

Then came Anthony and her eerily efficient blackmailing skills (not to mention her annoyingly full social schedule), which had him confined in _that place_, otherwise known, if Sirius was feeling particularly eloquent, as The Ninth Circle of Hell, The Place of Eternal Torment, or The Dwelling of the Pincecincerator Gargantuanious, The Most Fearsome Monster That Ever Lived.

After Sirius finally escaped from aforementioned Very Bad Place, he'd gone happily on his way to persuade Marlene into making a quick trip to the passageway behind the mirror with him. _Oh, poor, naïve, ridiculously good-looking Past Sirius_, even more ridiculously good-looking Current Sirius thought. _What a disaster you are in for_.

* * *

Pagan Anthony was _bored_.

A voice inside her head that sounded suspiciously like Lily Evans, fellow Gryffindor sixth-year, dorm mate, Prefect and all around Sensible Person—in fact, the_ only _Sensible Person Pagan was acquainted with, besides one Remus Lupin—told her that she should have had more sense than to go out with Shane Calloway.

After all, Shane Calloway, one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, had recently suffered a rather traumatic blow to the head, courtesy of one Bludger hit by Sirius Black of Gryffindor.

The effects were obviously still lingering, as he was rambling on about plots for revenge next game while staring at a spot slightly over her left shoulder, and winking at said spot every so often.

There wasn't anyone behind her. Pagan had checked multiple times.

When she surreptitiously checked her watch and realized that they had only been here fifteen minutes and still hadn't gotten their food, she excused herself from a mildly concussed Ravenclaw Chaser for a moment to duck into the loo.

She gave her make-up a cursory examination, more out of habit than anything else, as Shane was very unlikely to notice if she'd suddenly turned into a troll, before settling onto the ledge of the sink to wait the requisite time before she could return to the table.

She picked off a few hangnails, examined a scab on her forearm, and polished the smudges off her wand before heaving a deep sigh. The sad thing was that she preferred this to being a spectator to the weird love affair Shane seemed to be having with the empty air.

She consoled herself with the thought that he _meant_ the looks for her…at least…she _thought_ so.

An elderly witch came out of one of the stalls, and peered pointedly at Pagan, who obligingly got off the sink ledge.

She was about to resort to counting the tiles on the floor when something caught her eye in the mirror, and she got her first brilliant, or stupid, if you looked at it a certain way, idea of the night.

Pagan waited until the witch left, with a curious glance backwards, and then reached into her clutch for her Magic No-Smudge, Water-and-Drool-Proof Eyeliner pencil in Cauldron. She leaned close to the mirror, and very carefully penciled in a large mole near the corner of her lip, exactly like the one that had set up camp on the elderly witch's face.

She might as well test out her theory about Shane not noticing if she became an absolute hag.

_I think hair sprouting out would be a nice touch. Oh, and a moustache.

* * *

_

"…well enough about me, tell me something about you, babe."

Pagan jerked to attention and tightened her grip on her goblet before it crashed into the remnants of her dinner.

She was seriously regretting her decision to add a moustache and a large, hairy mole to her face. It was itchy. _Very_ itchy. She had been concentrating hard on not scratching her entire upper lip off, Shane's voice a buzz in the background of her torment, when he'd abruptly stopped talking.

The silence was expectant, and Pagan racked her mind for what he'd last said.

When that failed, she said, "Er, sorry Shane, I didn't catch that last bit. Repeat it again, please?"

"I _said_," he rolled his eyes, "enough about _me_, what about _you_, babe?"

"Ahh…right," she answered vaguely, as her moustache was punishing her for her momentary lapse in attention to it by engaging in a vicious fight with her skin. "Well, what do you want to know?"

"Hmmm…" he tapped his finger to his cheek, and Pagan could only imagine that he'd meant to aim for his chin. "Well, how about something secret? Since we're getting closer?"

Pagan suppressed any derisive answers she would have given in deference to her concentration on trying to mentally lower the amount of itchiness she was currently experiencing.

Dear Merlin, it felt like millions of miniscule little Erumpent horns were exploding on her lip. Her hand twitched convulsively on her lap, aching to itch it, but Pagan's pride was on the line here. She would _not_ act abnormally. She grew what vaguely resembled a rabid, morbidly obese Kneazle on her lip everyday. Yeah.

"How about you tell me the story of," he paused dramatically, "_your first kiss_?!"

"Uhhhh…." BILLIONS of Erumpent horns.

"If you're shy, _I_ could share mines, it was with Cherie Bulstrode—,"

"Actually, I was just gathering my thoughts!" Pagan interrupted hastily, before he could launch into more detail about Cherie "Dear Merlin, What is _That_ on Her Chin" Bulstrode.

"So who was it with? Some incompetent Hufflepuff, most likely?" Shane chortled, and stared intently at her shoulder. She supposed that would be the relative location of her lips on her _actual_ face.

With every thought she had, she was wasting mental power that she could be using to control the itch and the twitch. This probably explained what she blurted out next.

"It was with Sirius Black, actually."

_Stupid, stupid, stupid Pagan!_

Shane suddenly stopped salivating over her shoulder, and straightened up, looking mightily ruffled.

"Why, that _Black!_" he said scathingly. "At the match, when he shot that _Bludger_…"

Pagan made a mental note to kick herself in the shins later. She would be roughly Dumbledore's age before Shane stopped to draw breath in his diatribe.

This had to stop _now_. Both her moustache and her sense of self-preservation demanded it.

Pagan stood up abruptly, and Shane broke off in the middle of a word, looking up at her in befuddlement.

"Something wrong, babe?"

"I'm feeling _really_ unwell," Pagan said, groaning for effect, clutching her stomach and hoping that he would jump to the obvious conclusion.

Shane was mildly concussed, but he wasn't _that_ concussed.

"O-Oh!" he stuttered. "Well, ah…"

"I'm just going to head back now. You stay! Finish your dinner!" Pagan reached into her clutch, and pulled out enough money for her share. "Here's my bit, I'll see you later, bye!"

"No, no, I've got it—,"

"No _really_, I couldn't let you do that! Night!"

"But I wanted to bid you a _proper_ good—,"

"This is _really_ an emergency—,"

"Right then, au revoir, babe!"

Pagan smiled a secret victory grin and danced a secret victory jig before fleeing the restaurant like several herds of insulted centaurs and one unhygienic giant were after her.

* * *

The cool air of Hogsmeade at night was a balm on her poor skin.

Once she was sure Shane wasn't following her—she made a mental note to be pissed that he was enough of a prat to just let her go alone—she let out a huge sigh of relief and itched her moustache.

She felt better immediately. Whistling a cheery tune, she headed towards Honeydukes.

The sweet shop was nearly empty, so she quickly ducked into the back and into the secret passageway. She felt slightly guilty for having to share such a great secret with Shane, but what was done was done, and she was too relieved that her moustache had finally settled down to worry about that now. The minute she found a mirror, this _thing_ was coming _off_.

"And so ends the adventures of Pagan Anthony and Her Marvelously Magnificent Moustache," she muttered to herself as she emerged from the statue of the witch and into the dark hallway.

"Pardon?" said a vaguely amused voice.

Pagan whipped around, looking for the source. The drawl sounded familiar, but it was _so_ Slytherin, and she'd absolutely kill her stupid self if she was caught here by one of the nastier ones because of her stupid moustache…

"Who's there?" she called, reaching for her wand.

"_Lumos_." The ball of bright light illuminated one Sirius Black, clutching a half empty bottle of Butterbeer and looking positively raggedy by his standards.

* * *

Sirius had been in the middle of replaying the disastrous end to his day for the fifty-eighth time when he'd heard a muttering in the corridor. Recognizing the feminine tones, he'd made his way to the statue he'd shown Pagan and lighted his wand, realizing that she must've snuck in from Hogsmeade.

One eyebrow crept towards his hairline as he saw that she was sporting a rather magnificent, luxurious, dark blonde moustache that drooped almost to her chin, and a large wart at the corner of her lip that was growing hair of the same color. It was a mark of his Mauraderism that he didn't act otherwise shocked.

In truth, she was still rather attractive, with her pale blue eyes wild like that.

_Right, Sirius, you've probably scared her._

"Whoopsy daisy," he said.

She breathed in deeply. "It's fine. I'm just a paranoid freak. It's the moustache's fault."

The beginning of a smirk was forming on his lips. "What happened to Calloway? And what's the story here? I want a story, Anthony."

She grinned at him. "Well, you see, it really began at that last Quidditch match when—,"

She broke off abruptly, and he lifted his wand higher in time to see the sudden realization breaking over her face.

"Er—,"

"Shut up, you dipshit!" she nearly growled at him.

He backed away. "What the fu—?!"

He was interrupted when she swiftly brought her hand back then punched him viciously in the cheek, and an explosion of pain erupted at said site.

"IT WAS ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU BLOODY PRAT!!! _YOU_ SHOT THAT BLUDGER!!! AND YOU'RE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MOUSTACHE!!! _AND THE ERUMPENTS!!!_"

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**A/N**: Tell me how you guys liked it!!! Next chapter: the infamous end to Sirius' Very Bad Day, Pagan explains _patiently_ to Sirius why he's at fault for her magnificent moustache, and others, including more fuckbuddyness!

P.S. I realize a punch isn't exactly a smack. My bad.


	3. Very Bad Days

**The Varying Degrees of Smackitude**

By RH

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**A/N**: Thank you guys SO MUCH for all the reviews!!! To mariannavdbilt: the Marauders and others will make their way in eventually, I promise :)

TO THOSE OF YOU WHO GOT AN ALERT: This is a repost to fix errors, which seem to materialize between document editing and publishing way too often. So sorry!!!

Disclaimer: Still not brilliant enough to have owned HP.

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Chapter Three: Very Bad Days

* * *

Sirius Black was backed into a corner. He looked left. He looked right. _There was no escape._

He began to compose his will in his head.

_Dear Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail…_

"EUURGGHH!!!" Pagan was advancing on him, her face screwed up rather unattractively, her moustache twitching. "YOU KNOW WHAT I SAT THROUGH TONIGHT?!"

_Moony, I leave to you _101 Ways to Charm the Witchiest of Witches _in hopes that you will get laid soon…_

"Well…no, I don't know…but I think I'm about to find—,"

"YOU JUST _HAD_ TO HIT THAT BLUDGER AT SHANE CALLOWAY, DIDN'T YOU?"

"Love, let's look at this _reasonably_, how could my hitting a Bludg—,"

"IT HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH IT! YOU STARTED THE CHAIN OF…OF…AWFULNESS AND…_DOOM_!"

_I also leave to you, Remus Lupin, my Beater's Bat, so that you can continue the tradition of beating Prongs over the head every time he whines about Evans…_

Fuck it, he had nothing to lose—he could count on Moony. Probably. He reached out and quickly grabbed hold of Pagan's shoulders, and gave her a rough shake.

She stopped moving.

Sirius immediately let go of her and held up his hands, ready to defend himself.

When she didn't respond for a few moments, he dared a peek over his raised fists, his dropped wand still emitting faint light.

Pagan was seated on the top stair, twirling her wand between her fingers.

He cautiously edged closer, then dropped down next to her.

"Ah…"

She shot him a glare that would've made a lesser man—Wormtail—wet his pants.

_Wormtail, I leave you my handsomest trousers…_

"Oh, Anthony, Anthony, dearest. Tell Uncle Sirius what's going on," he drawled, but reminded himself to be ready to defend various important organs.

"What's going on, _Uncle Sirius_," she said nastily, "is that I have just realized that you are responsible for my suffering."

Sirius raised an elegant eyebrow. "Is that so? I thought I'd kicked that habit."

Pagan made an angry noise, and Sirius quickly backtracked.

"Right, pretend I didn't say that. Just explain this madness, Anthony! And quickly, before I start wallowing about _it_ for the fifty-ninth time."

"_It_? What are you talking about? Who have you been _doing_?"

Sirius affected an air of injury. "Excuse _me_, but I happen to have excellent taste!"

Pagan snorted. "We'll get back to that, but first, I thought you were trying to avoid thinking about 'it' for the fifty—,"

"Yes," Sirius said loudly. "I am. Now tell me how I've ruined your life! And will I need popcor—_hey!_ Alright, alright, I take that back."

Pagan _hmph_ed, and straightened out her skirt. "Do you recall the last Quidditch game?"

"Ah, that was a fine one, it was. 260 to 100, and Gryffindor pulls into the lead for the Cup!"

"Yeah, yeah. But what I'm talking about is one specific incident where you, Sirius Black, hit a Bludger at Shane Calloway, whom _I_ had a date with tonight."

"Oh come _on_, all he got was a concussion!"

"I wouldn't care if you'd made him fall into a pit of Devil's Snares!"

"Ah…did he have a problem performing—,"

"No, Black, I think you're confusing him with you—,"

"I haven't heard _you_ complaining!"

She gave a sigh. "Do you want to hear this before I kill you or not?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but Pagan cut him off and moved on.

"Well, you hit that damned Bludger at Calloway, causing a concussion, causing me to have to sit through Calloway with a concussion, causing me to grow a large moustache, which caused me to nearly take my own lip off."

"Anthony, dearest, please explain precisely how _me_ giving Calloway a concussion led to _you_ growing that fine moustache."

"I was so bored that I was driven to _growing my own moustache_ in hopes that he would notice!!!"

"_Ah ha!_ That was _your_ fault!"

"_How_—,"

"You could've stripped naked instead, or something reasonable like that, but noooo…"

"Oh hell—,"

"You decided to go grow bunches of that lovely facial hair! So really, it's all your fault! I, Sirius Black, am _blameless_!!!"

"Black, you are _never_ blameless."

"On the contrary, Anthony, because this time, I am!"

"_You_ hit that Bludger!!! If Calloway hadn't been concussed, I'd be having fun in a broomcloset right now instead of arguing with you!!!"

"_You_ grew that facial hair!!! And _I'm_ supposed to be having fun in a broomcloset as well, so that's not a complaint at all!!!"

"Wait—that's right. Why aren't you with Marlene?" Pagan asked, curious enough to abandon the argument in favor of finding out why Sirius wasn't hooking up with the pretty, buxom Marlene McKinnon.

Sirius groaned.

"Damn it, now you've done it!!! I'm thinking about _it_ for the fifty-ninth time! Anthony, you are the devil's own."

"_It_?"

"Sixtieth time!"

"Sirius! I'll let you live if you tell me!"

"It wasn't even my fault!"

"Nevertheless, I'll let you live if you tell me."

Sirius paused for a second to weight his options. On the one hand, there was his dignity. On the other hand, there was Anthony's famous Green Wood Hex, which turned certain sensitive body parts…well…_green_.

"Right. So I was heading to the passageway behind the mirror with Marlene of the World's Most Gravity Defyingest Boo—alright, alright!—when out of nowhere, dearest Bella shows up."

Pagan made the appropriate hissing noises common to all Gryffindors when hearing a mention of Bellatrix Black.

"She's with one of the Lestranges—the spotty one, what's his name?"

"Rodolphus. For fuck's sake, Sirius, you're the one related to them!"

"Pfft, I bet you are too! Your da's a Thicknesse, isn't he?"

"It's so faint it doesn't even count. You, on the other hand, grew up with them, didn't you?"

"I never bothered to learn the difference, they both have equally good reactions to Dungbombs."

Pagan laughed, but poked Sirius in the ribs. "Continue, sir."

"So she's with him—I always thought he looked a bit like a llama on acid, by the way—and they're headed to the broom cupboard on the fourth floor, ahead of Marlene and me—y'know how we have to pass that cupboard to get to the mirror."

"You didn't duel them, did you, you daft bugger?!"

"Keep your moustache on, I was with Marlene. I wasn't about to miss a trip behind the mirror with _her_ for Bella. We didn't say anything, made sure we were far enough behind them that they wouldn't notice us. Everything was fine, handy dandy, just peachy, until…"

Sirius trailed off, shooting an expectant glance at Pagan.

"What? Stop leering at me, you wanker."

"Anthony, you're _killing_ my story buzz!!! Act all expectant!"

"What—this is stupid, Sirius—hey!—alright, alright, fine. _Ooohhh!!! Tell me what happens, Uncle Sirius!_"

"If you insist, dearest Pagan. Bella stuck her hand down Lestrange's pants!"

Pagan blinked. "Uhhhh….ew."

"And that's not all—they just start _going_ at it!!! In the middle of the corridor!!!"

"Sirius, might I remind you that you tend to do this at least twice a week?"

"Attractive people snogging is a turn-on for everyone else. Think about it as a public service."

Pagan heaved a sigh. "Is that it? You saw Bellatrix and Lestrange snogging, and you're sulking?"

"As _terribly awful_ as that is, the story does not end there. No, I distinctly saw Bella stick her hand down his pants and—," Sirius leaned over to whisper the rest in Pagan's ear.

Her eyes grew bigger and bigger with every word, and her jaw dropped further and further, until she resembled nothing more than those peculiar fish Muggles kept in glass bowls with fake plants and strangely colored gravel. With the addition of a moustache, of course.

Sirius sat back, feeling quite smug to have produced such a reaction.

"B-But…" Pagan spluttered. "How the—_why_—what—_holy mother of Merlin_!!! Is that even—could she really…?!"

"I assure you, not even a person as depraved as I could make this up."

Pagan buried her face in her hands. "Sirius bloody Black, you have plagued me with images of Bellatrix and Rodolphus in a corridor for the rest of my natural life. I won't be able to eat in the same hall as them for a week!"

"Stop bitching, you pansy, I actually remember the entire thing!"

"Why don't you attempt to forget?!"

"It's emblazoned into my mind alongside the smell of fresh apple pie and the feel of the wind rushing through my hair as I fly."

"You bloody bastard, you're enjoying this, aren't you?!"

"I was thinking about censoring it for you, but then you threatened me with that godawful hex of yours—,"

"You'll be lucky if I don't perform it on you now!"

Sirius sniffed. "I could go into even _more_ detail, Anthony—,"

"Alright, alright! I won't hex you, but for Merlin's sake, don't _ever_ mention this again."

Sirius nodded affirmatively, and then took another swig of his nearly-forgotten Butterbeer.

"Needless to say, Marlene and I did not end up behind the mirror," he concluded moodily, picking at the bottle label. "I am being _deprived_!!! It's as if the snog gods don't want me to put this gorgeous visage to use!"

Pagan snorted.

Sirius suddenly dropped his Butterbeer with a clang, and sat up straight.

"Oh Anthony!" he said in a sing-song voice. "I've an idea!"

"The poor thing must feel so alone, banging around in the preposterously gigantic empty cavern that is your head."

Sirius ignored her, and clasped her face between his hands.

"Wuvthellaryadoin—,"

"_Evanesco_!"

Pagan felt the whoosh of his breath across her suddenly barren upper lip. She wrenched her face out of Sirius' grip, and clasped her hands over it. The moustache! It was—

"Gone gone gone gone gone, good riddance, you fat, ungainly, evil cow!" Pagan sang.

Sirius smirked. "Gone it is, which makes it much easier to do _this_."

His lips met hers abruptly, but she relaxed into him on reflex, without a second thought. Automatically, like breathing, they fell into each other. The product of countless awkward embraces in years past, the outcome of hours spent learning the feel of each other's body, was that when they came together, their bodies parted and connected in a flawless waltz.

She ran her tongue over his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth to hers in a clash of tongue and teeth, spice and sugar and Butterbeer. The smell of him—of autumn leaves and strong soap and broomsticks—was familiar, but she could not imagine getting tired of it, and maybe it was that thought that allowed Sirius to peel the clothes off her as they backed up against the railing of the empty staircase.

When she reached for the buttons of his school shirt, he stopped her for a second.

"How's my idea coming across?" he asked, his voice roughened and low, but his smirk still a shadow in his dark gray eyes.

She pretended to ponder for a minute, turning his top button in her fingers, slowly undoing it. "Well, I still think it's lonely. However, I think I've got some—like _this_," she placed a wet kiss on the bit of skin she'd exposed, "—to keep it company."

* * *

**A/N**: …and so they proceeded to do lots of hot, smutty things to each other ;) I was thinking of including what I imagined Bellatrix would be doing, but I rather think it would jack up the rating of this fic, so use your imaginations! I hope you liked this chapter even if it didn't include Sirius getting smacked silly, and remember to **review**!!!

Next chapters: Pagan and Sirius get to know each other—in ways besides the physical, I think they've got that down—better.


	4. James' Very Own Smack

**The Varying Degrees of Smackitude**

By RH

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for the reviews!!!

Disclaimer: Still not brilliant enough to have owned HP.

* * *

Chapter Four: James' Very Own Smack (Which He Later Names Sally, But That's An Entirely Different Story)

* * *

James Potter was getting more and more annoyed by the second.

"SIRIUS!!!" he bellowed, stomping up the stairs to the fourth floor. "PADFOOT!!!"

"James, keep your voice down," said Remus Lupin tiredly, still only half-awake. The full moon had only been a few days ago. "You're going to wake up the entire castle, and it's not yet six. Peter, stop drooling on the banister."

Peter Pettigrew's head snapped up. "Wh-What?" he yawned. "Wuzzgoinon?"

Remus sighed. "James, why exactly are we going around looking for Sirius? It's _Sunday morning_."

"Exactly!" said James. "We _always_ plan the week's pranks before breakfast on Sunday morning, even if Sirius has to tear himself away from Marlene of the World's Most Gravity Defyingest Boo—,"

"You two don't seriously get up this early to plan pranks—never mind, it's not so difficult to believe," said Remus. "But what's the point—I have to edit everything anyways."

James pouted. "But we're the raw talent! And our creative raw talent juices just so happen to work best before six on Sunday mornings."

Remus passed a hand over his eyes. "Fine. But keep your searching for your creative raw talent co-juicer down."

* * *

Pagan could feel almost feel the sun burning through her eyelids. Groaning, she opened her eyes slowly and squinted against the bright light streaming through the glassless windows of the West Tower, near the Ravenclaw Common Room. She pushed herself off the magically softened blanket and arched back, popping the bones in her back before yawning and dragging herself over to a window. The pink tinge of sunrise was still in the sky—she bet it wasn't even six thirty.

She glanced back, grinning a little when Sirius, still wrapped up in the quilt he'd somehow managed to wrangle from her death grasp during the night, let out a loud snore. When he'd suggested they come up here last night, Pagan was vaguely amused to learn that he kept supplies up here specifically for such occasions. The wanker was insane.

She yawned again, and this time, her stomach rumbled, too. She'd barely touched her dinner last night, and lunch before that. It was definitely time to make a trip to visit a certain ticklish pear. Should she wake Sirius up? On the one hand, he had the worst morning breath in several counties, and her hair was a matted rat's nest. On the other, she'd like some company on the long trek towards the other side of the castle.

Her mind made up, she plopped down next to Sirius and pondered the best way to wake him up. She leaned in closer to examine his face, wondering if he would wake up with a light smack—

"Morning, Anthony," Sirius drawled, his eyes still closed, but the corners of his lips lifting.

She bit back the shriek she'd been about to let out at his abrupt greeting, and hissed angrily back at him instead. Lazily, he opened one eye.

"Oh come on. Your stomach rumbles so loud I'd be surprised if the Ravenclaws didn't file a complaint."

She sniffed, and pinched her nose together dramatically. "Your breath should be classified as a toxin."

Sirius, predictably, blew a stream of air towards her. Pagan smiled, waved her hand around to clear the air, then said, triumphantly, "Held my breath! So there!"

He harrumphed, but sat up, the quilt pooling around his waist, and exposing his bare chest, toned from years of Quidditch. Pagan rolled her eyes—it was surely a patented Sirius Black move, but for good reason—his skin was golden tan in the sunlight, and she wasn't experiencing any pain from looking.

He grinned at her, and reached around her for his school shirt, making sure to brush her bare stomach, exposed because she was only in her undergarments. He pulled it on, but left it unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms.

"So," he said, sending her a mischievous glance as he leant back, his shirt practically falling off him. "Are we going?"

"You prat," she murmured. "Really, you big, fat prat." She leaned in to kiss him, making sure to twitch her wand subtly and cast a freshening charm on him beforehand.

The clasp of their lips was sweet and a little lazy, a morning kiss that was unhurried and as golden as the sunlight. He tasted like warmth, something she couldn't quite put into words, though she found herself liking it. Her palms were flat against his chest, and she could feel the warm, taut skin, and the beating of his heart against her wrist when he shifted so that he could access her mouth. When she pulled away for breath, he followed her, his mouth on the side of her lips, and then her chin, and then down her neck, tracing the arc of her pale skin. His hand slipped up her back, and his fingers slipped one bra strap down, over her shoulder, then the other.

He was working on the bra clasp when her stomach growled again. Groaning, he paused, his lips still at her neck, and glared down at her flat stomach as if it personally offended him.

She chuckled deep in her throat, and he felt the vibrations against his mouth. "Sorry, Black, but I think we'll have to continue this later. Since you've stopped, I am re-realizing that I am bloody _starving_." She pried herself away from him, not without reluctance, and got to her feet.

Sirius frowned up at her. "_Anthony_!" he whined. "Come oonnnn. It's not like you need the extra pounds, anyways!"

Pagan glared at him, then looked pointedly down at her slender frame.

Sirius followed her gaze, tracing the slight curves of her body, backlit by the sunshine, and with a sudden tightening in his stomach, he saw that she was like a colt—all limbs and bones, and pale, soft skin. Her curves were gentle, but defined—definitely not Marlene, but pleasant and lovely in her own way. He'd never seen her quite in this light before. She'd always been very attractive to him, but he had never appreciated the delicate collar bones of her neck, or the curve of her small shoulders.

Pagan cleared her throat, and when he looked up, she was smirking a smirk that normally lived on his face.

"Why, Sirius, I know I'm hot, but come _on_," she said laughingly. "I'm starving."

He laughed too, and held up a hand, which she used to haul him up. "Alright, alright, you obese cow. I'm coming."

* * *

Pagan bit ravenously into an éclair, savoring the custard that spilled out over her tongue.

"God," she said around a mouthful to Sirius, who was working on an omelet. "These things are bloody heavenly."

"Glad I told you about em, aren't you?" he said smugly.

Pagan didn't have a chance to answer before there was a loud disturbance at the entrance to the kitchens.

"…been looking for him _everywhere_!" came a loud, deep, familiar male voice. "He's not even in the West Tower!!!"

"Calm _down_." A calmer voice this time, but still male.

"Hey guys, while we're here, we should pick up some pasties, right?" a third, squeakier voice asked.

Sirius sat straight up, and looked round.

"Oy, Prongs! Were you missing me, darling?" he called, and Pagan turned too to see a tall, messy-haired boy with spectacles, a lanky sandy-haired boy, and a shorter, slightly pudgy blonde come in—the Marauders sans Sirius Black.

James made a rude gesture at Sirius, who placed a hand over his heart and dropped his plate of food onto the table. "_James_! You're breaking my heart!"

"Bloody wanker," James muttered, then turned to shoot an accusatory glared at Pagan, who snorted. While James wasn't as darkly handsome or muscular as Sirius, he had a more open, boyish quality to his features, and a leaner, taller body honed from years of Chasing, and thus his fair share of admirers.

"Don't look at me, Potter—I swear he wasn't cuckolding you," she said then offered him some of her pastries. "Éclair?"

Peter reached forward eagerly for one, but Remus stopped him.

"Peter," he said exasperatedly. "I thought you meant to diet this week."

Peter looked down at his shoes, muttering something unintelligible, and Remus rolled his eyes. Remus Lupin wasn't athletic like Sirius and James, and was lanky instead of toned. However, his mop of sandy hair and angelic, serious features coupled with his famous tact and intelligence earned him fairly regular instances of feminine admiration, that, to Pagan's knowledge, he had only returned once.

"Morning, Pagan. Have any chocolate ones?" he asked Pagan, who grinned and handed him a pastry. While he was sinking his teeth into it, she covertly handed one to Peter with a wink, and he almost squealed with delight, beaming at her. The Pettigrew boy was the shortest and pudgiest of his friends, but it was not unheard of that girls think he was adorable—after all, he _was_ a Marauder. Meanwhile, James and Sirius appeared to be having a wrestling match on one of the empty kitchen counters. Some of the house elves had picked teams, and were egging one or the other on in their squeaky high voices.

"_Hey_!" James called. "You can't—_argh!­_—bite, you prat! _Especially_ not there!"

"Your—_bloody hell_—knees are in my ­_spleen_, you wanker! I bloody need that to _live_!" Sirius retorted, then twisted around to put James into a headlock. "Call mercy, you fruitcake!"

"_Never_, you tradition annihilating arsehole!!!"

Sirius blinked. "Pardon, Prongsie?"

"It's Sunday morning, you…you Hippogriff dropping!"

"Hippogriff dropping?" Pagan said dryly. "_Really_?" She and Remus exchanged withering looks.

"Oh, shut it, Anthony," James said, blowing a raspberry at her while massaging his neck, where Sirius had released his death grip. Said Sirius was gaping at his best friend.

"Well? What've you got to say for yourself, you steaming pile of dragon's excrement?" James demanded.

"Getting slightly better," Remus commented.

"Well fuck me with Merlin's favorite double ended oak Beater's Bat and a vat of melted Acid Pops," Sirius said. "I can't believe I forgot!"

Remus frowned. "More creative, but that's disgusting, not to mention physically impossible." Pagan nodded her agreement.

"Gotta give him points for making it unrelated to bowels, though," she said. "James' all were."

"Right."

"You damn well should be sorry," sniffed James. "We're going to go prankless for the entire week because of you!"

"Well, we could do it now—,"

"It's past six!"

Pagan raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

"Does it _matter_?!" sputtered James. "_Does it matter?!?!_ Anthony, your ignorance is making me ill! Where did _you_ grow up, Uranus? The bottom of the lake? _France_? Of course it bloody matters!!! Everyone knows creative raw talent juices flow better before six!!! Why, it's been well documented!!! Have you learned _nothing_ in this world?! Six years of magical education, and you don't know this?! _Wasted money_!!! You could've bought a Cleansweep with all those galleons!!!"

She stared at James, her lips twitching. "Potter, I'd slap you if I wasn't afraid I'd catch this apparently particularly virulent strand of Stupid."

"I've immunity," Remus said, before promptly smacking James upside the head, then dusting his hands off. "I knew something good would come out of suffering through being dorm mates with this lot."

James rubbed his head, and glared at Moony balefully, his glasses slipping to the very end of his thin nose. "Why, I never, young man! That's no way to treat your fellow Marauder!"

"James," Remus said patiently. "Have you thought that perhaps Lily might hate you a miniscule amount less if she gets a week free from Flobberworms in the toilets and suits of armor slapping her on the…er…derriere?"

"No!" Sirius and James both chorused, Sirius indignantly and James sounding surprised.

"Prongs, we will have to take this like men," Sirius said, narrowing his eyes at Remus. "We will suffer through this and _still_ have spectacular, chin-droppingly awe-inspiring pranks to play this week. We are Marauders, damn it!"

James nodded vigorously. "We _have_ to, for the sake of the poor prank-deprived students of Hogwarts!" He furrowed his brow. "Don't think I'm going to forget this, though, you arsehat. You're going to have to be the look out this week!"

Sirius groaned, but Peter, the usual look out, cheered.

"Fine," the Black scion grumbled. "I'm bloody never missing Sundays again. You're totally not worth it, Anthony."

Pagan rolled her eyes, ignoring the irritation that swept through her. "Remember, it was your idea, Black." She slid off the stool she'd been perched on, and grabbed a few more éclairs. "Well, boys, it's been a hoot, but I'm getting back to bed. Toodles." She headed out of the kitchen.

Remus raised an eyebrow at his fellow canine.

"What?" Sirius asked around a mouthful of glazed éclair—his omelet had gotten cold.

"Was that really tactful?" the werewolf asked.

Sirius shrugged. "Pagan doesn't care, she's cool. She's the one that came up with us being fuck buddies in the first place. We're physical only."

"But isn't she a friend? More so than the girls you snog in the broom cupboards and then hardly speak to ever again?"

A tiny crease formed between Sirius' eyes. "I suppose so. We don't _just_ shag. We talk too."

"Then why'd you go off and say she wasn't worth playing look out for a single week?"

Sirius blinked. "Well, pranking's serious business. I like to be a part of it—no offense, Pete, look outs are important too."

"It's true," James said reassuringly as Peter looked faintly stricken.

"Aren't _friends_ serious business? It didn't look like she much considered you a friend when she left," the werewolf continued.

"She knows we're just…" he trailed off, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "Wait, are you saying that she might revoke fuck buddy privileges?"

Remus sighed. "Not…quite. But you're getting warmer."

Sirius didn't seem to hear. He was frowning now. "Merlin, that would be arsetastic. A disaster. A Pagan-less, good-sex-assured-less wasteland."

Peter looked up from his second plate of pastries, which he was hiding from Remus. "Sounds bad, mate. Maybe you want to say something to her?"

Sirius looked at James, who shrugged. "Your call, but Anthony didn't look too happy. She's cool, but she doesn't understand the seriousity of pranking."

"Seriousness."

"_Seriousity_ is what I mean, Remus. Seriousness isn't serious enough, is it, Sirius?"

Sirius was too perturbed to make his usual pun, as he was already halfway across the kitchen.

"He's moving fast…" murmured Remus.

"Anyways," said James loudly. "Do you really think that Evans would like me more if I stopped all the pranks on her? Because honestly, I find it rather endearing myself."

* * *

"Anthony! Hey, Anthony!"

Pagan turned slightly when she heard Black calling after her.

"What is it, Black?" she asked. "I want to go back to bed."

He stopped in front of her, and shook his hair out of his dark eyes. "Sorry."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sorry? About…?"

"About saying you weren't worth a week of prank look out duty," he said.

Slightly taken aback, Pagan nodded. "It's alright. Wow, tell Remus thanks from me. I didn't know you listened to him _that_ much."

Sirius looked indignant. "Hey, I don't need Moony to tell me what to do."

Pagan smiled a little. "In some cases, I think you need him more than you need, say, your spleen."

Sirius snorted. "Well, you're worth at least a week and a half of look out," he said cheekily. "Maybe two weeks."

Pagan shook her head. "Now _that's_ the Black we all know."

He smiled winningly. "And love."

And suddenly, it all made blinding sense to her.

"Black, it's alright," Pagan said shrewdly, testing him. "I'm not going to stop being your fuck buddy, you don't have to go through this obviously agonizing ritual."

Sirius immediately heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin. I was _actually_ running out of smooth, clever things to say. You have no idea how much I panicked."

Pagan half-smiled at him, but there was little warmth in the gesture. "I don't have to be worth more than a week of look out, Black. It's fine. I'll see you later, I'm going to bed."

As she rounded the corner, Sirius felt a little off-kilter, short-changed, unbalanced. There should've been a witty retort. Anthony always had a witty retort.

He shrugged it off, and started heading back to the kitchens, but it didn't go away so easily.

The image of her face after he'd affirmed her theory that he'd only apologized because he didn't want to lose any sex flashed through his head. The expression her doll-like features had been twisted into made him vaguely uncomfortable, but he couldn't pinpoint why. Maybe he shouldn't have sounded so relieved. He'd told Remus she meant more than sex, and she did…at least, he _thought_ she did. Had he been lying? After all, it was true that the catalyst in sending him after her had been the idea that he might lose good shags.

He shook his head to clear it. He was being bloody ridiculous. He was reading too much into her.

Of course Pagan didn't care.

* * *

**A/N**: Don't worry, Sirius isn't giving in to sentimentality so easily ;) If anyone read the chapter title, I might be posting a few vignettes about James' Sally, either in this story or as a separate story. As with all things in James' life, the story of how Sally got named all comes back to one Lily Evans. I adore James, so expect to see some J/L here!

Remember to REVIEW!!!! :)


	5. Dorcas Knows Best

**The Varying Degrees of Smackitude**

By RH

* * *

**A/N**: To everyone who reviewed: I love you :) To everyone who read, but didn't review: I still love you, but…review and I'll love you more! ;)

Disclaimer: "Percy wouldn't recognize a joke if it danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby's tea cozy." I have not yet attained the level of genius required to write that.

* * *

Chapter Five: Dorcas Knows Best

* * *

"_Psssssssst_."

Pagan twitched a little on the shaded grass beneath the oak tree, where she was entrapped in that curious space in between sleeping and waking.

"_Psssssssstttt!!!_"

"Paige," came her best friend Dorcas Meadows' voice, tinged with amusement. "I think somebody's here to speak with you."

Pagan mumbled something and moved her head away from the noise.

"_PSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTT!!!_"

"Dee, make it go _away_!" Pagan moaned. "Far, far away, where the dragons can eat its entrails…"

"Oy!" came a masculine voice, whom Pagan could only assume had been making the hideous hissing noises.

"I don't think he likes that," said Dorcas. "Perhaps you should try a different tactic."

"Please go away," Pagan whimpered, her eyes still shut tight against the afternoon sun, hanging on desperately to the last mists of sleep. "Go away go away go away."

"James," she heard Dorcas say. "Maybe you should leave her be. She had a really miserable day in Charms, not that I need to tell _you_ that."

"Personally, I found Sir—,"

"Do _not_," Pagan whispered menacingly, her jaw tightening in fury, "mention his name."

"Who, Voldemort?" said the annoying male voice, now identified as one James Potter.

"No, I'm talking about a much bigger prat," snapped Pagan. "You know who I mean, Potter."

James gasped melodramatically. "Unkind! Moldytoadywarts is the prattiest of all prats in the history of Pratland!"

"Take your Moldy-fucking-toadywarts and stick him up your—,"

"Ahem!" James cleared his throat. "Now that I have your attention—," Pagan gave a rather feral growl. "—I can proceed with the errand for which I was sent."

"Oh, are you an errand boy for someone else now, James?" Dorcas asked, interested.

Distracted, James turned to look at her. "Whatever do you mean, Spring Meadow?"

"Well, I knew about Lily already," Dorcas said plainly. "But have you turned slave for someone else too?"

"I resent that!" sputtered James. "I will have you know, Frigid Dead Meadow, that—,"

"_Potter_," Pagan interrupted, her voice dark with all sorts of really painful threats, including (but not limited to) decapitation, castration, amputation, and cursed toilet seats. "Get on with it, and then leave."

James shot her a glare (which she couldn't see, as her eyes were still closed), and then sniffed disdainfully. "Fine, Anthony. Sirius needs to speak with you."

Pagan hissed like a cat at the mention of Sirius' name, and cracked one fiery pale blue eye open. "Didn't I _tell_ you not to say his name?"

James peered at her over his glasses in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Dumbledore, if Dumbledore had somehow morphed into a hormonal, shirtless, currently-being-gawked-at-by-girls-in-the-distance sixth year. "Pagan, m'dear, is there some residual anger that we need to deal with here? Because I have office hours from—,"

"_Leave_, Potter."

"Right-o. He'll meet you at the mirror at half past nine tonight."

Before Pagan could retort, James was off like a shot towards the lake, his admirers trailing off after him.

* * *

Lupin glanced up from his book as James loped back to the beech tree by the lake.

"Is there a particular reason your shirt is off?" he asked.

"Do you even need to ask?" snorted Sirius.

Ignoring his best friend, James said, "You see, today, while I was in the girls' bathroom—,"

Lupin sighed. "You were following Lily, weren't you?"

James reddened a little, but shook his head furiously. "Moony, is your opinion of my morals so low?! I would never do such a thing!"

Remus opened his mouth, but James glared at him and plowed on.

"But anyways," he said. "I was in the bathroom and I overheard Vance and Evans talking about the blokes in our year. Vance brought _me_ up—,"

"Oh, this is going to be good," muttered Sirius, plopping down besides Remus.

"—and said that _I_ had, and I quote, 'abso-fucking-lutely shag-me abs.'"

"Vance obviously needs to get her hearing checked if _that's_ what your abs are telling her. Personally, they scream _LAY OFF THE BUTTERBEERS_ to me, but it's a bit hard to hear through all that insulation," remarked Sirius.

Remus' lips twitched, and Peter burst into laughter, but James kept talking as if Sirius hadn't said anything.

"It was quiet for a second, and then Evans says that Vance _must _be joking!!!" he finished up indignantly.

"So," Remus concluded. "You decided to prove to Lily that your abs are indeed 'abso-fucking-lutely shag-me abs' by running around half-naked, correct?"

James nodded enthusiastically, and ran a hand through his hair as he habitually glanced towards the lake, where Lily and her friends hung out.

"Mate," said Sirius gently, patting his best friend's hand. "_You need to grow a pair_."

"Don't tell me that, you bugger," James retorted. "You were afraid to go talk to Anthony yourself!"

"But," Sirius said. "That was an actual life or death situation."

"I would say so," said Lupin. "After all, you did show up an hour late to the Charms presentations worth a quarter of our grade, accidentally set all your papers on fire, caused Flitwick to sprout boils when attempting a countercharm, then decide to ad-lib by insinuating that McGonagall enjoyed a healthy feline sex life in addition to being a Muggle stripper named Peaches N' Cream."

James was roaring with laughter. "Merlin, Padfoot, it really was a job well done," he said. "All you were missing were a few tap-dancing Hungarian Horntails and a tub of lard, and it would have been the greatest Charms class ever."

Sirius grinned charmingly, then jumped to his feet and bowed to an imaginary audience. "Thank you, thank you!"

Peter, predictably, started clapping and cat-calling, and Siruis sat back down with a satisfied smirk.

"I thought you were going to give Anthony a coronary," said Remus dryly. "Aren't you going to apologize to her?"

"Flitwick'll allow her to make it up," said Sirius lazily.

James snorted. "Mate, I've never seen him look that pissed. I swear every kneecap his glare came into contact with shivered for hours."

A shadow crossed Sirius' face briefly, but he merely shrugged.

"At least go talk to Flitwick, Padfoot," Remus said mildly. "It would be unfair for Pagan to have worked so hard to get so many points taken away."

"She sure did look angry," Peter said cheerfully, if a little belatedly.

* * *

"So are you going to go?" Dorcas asked, flicking her wand lazily so that the acorns around them gave half-hearted leaps.

Pagan was glaring stonily at a rather large acorn, and it was shaking rather fearfully, making rattling noises. "So that arseface can ooze his smug, useless, daft self over me? You must be one Knut short of a Galleon. And he must be too, if he thinks I'm going to shag him."

Dorcas grimaced sympathetically. "Yes, he was rather awful, wasn't he? Though I think half the class broke a rib laughing, and the other half ran to the loo to vomit."

"You know you thought it was funny," said Pagan darkly.

She was unable to stop a small smirk from appearing on her lips. "Sorry, darling, but I haven't been that entertained since the Fuckwad Foursome made Felix Boyle's trousers spontaneously combust every few minutes, then belt a rendition of 'The Innumerable Virtues of Wilma the Willing.'"

Pagan sighed, and the acorn gave a violent shudder.

"But," Dorcas continued. "I think you should go talk to him."

The acorn exploded into tiny bits that scattered everywhere.

"What I mean," Dorcas said hastily. "Is that if you go talk to him, you can _really_ let him have it without having to deal with his fangirls attacking you."

"Hmmm."

"Just think about it. You, Black, and a few nasty new hexes, without any interference; hardly anyone knows about the mirror."

There was a moment of silence as Pagan pondered this idea, a slightly odd look on her face. The other acorns, egged on by Dorcas, edged warily away, giving her a wide berth.

"Dee," Pagan said, a little grudgingly, "I think I'll have to follow your advice. Have you ever heard of a hex that turned the victim into a toilet? Or perhaps a Bludger? That sounds satisfyingly painful. Oh! I could stick Black the Toilet in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom!"

* * *

Sirius waited impatiently under Prongs' Cloak for Anthony to arrive. It was already a quarter to ten, and there was no sign of the blondish, brunette-ish, blue-eyed witch.

It was only a few minutes later that footsteps started echoing down the deserted corridor, lit only by a single lamp, and Sirius turned around to see a tall, slim figure stalking down the hallway.

"Bloody prat," he heard her mutter as she neared. "If he stands me up…"

"You're the one that's late," Sirius retorted, slipping the Cloak off—Pagan had known about it since she'd spotted the Marauders sneaking off to the kitchens as clumsy, inexperienced first years.

She whirled on him without a second thought, and her hand flew to the pocket of her skirt, where he knew her wand was.

"Hold on," he said.

"Where do _you_ get off?" she snarled. "You don't have a bloody right to tell me what to do!"

"You know I didn't ask you to come here because of Charms."

"What are you _talking_ about, you lunatic?!"

_He knew_.

"And I bet you might know why our lovely little Charms incident even occurred."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't have an effing clue," she snapped, her hand tightening on the wand inside her pocket.

"Don't bullshit," Sirius said, a note of sharpness entering his voice.

"What are you raving about, Black?! I don't know anything!"

"Why have you been avoiding me, Anthony?"

* * *

**A/N**: Perhaps you can see where this is going? xD I love me some fights (and of course, the make-up fluff). Sorry for the uneventful chapter, but I'm trying to save up any talent I possess to write a good relationship-developing chapter next. PLEASE REVIEW! It only makes me more and more willing to write.

PS: I adore writing Lily/James. How do you guys feel about some of that in here?

PPS: The slaps will be back, I promise!!! ;)


	6. Smack of the Month & An Interlude

**The Varying Degrees of Smackitude**

By RH

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for the reviews!!! And because I love you guys so much, I wrote an **extra half** **chapter** of L/J ;D Enjoy the longness!!!

Disclaimer: Do not own HP—though I haven't stopped hoping.

Warning: Language—strong language. I'm really sorry if it offends you. This chapter is also a little less fluffy and light than the others. Or a lot.

* * *

Chapter Six: Smack of the Month (And Other Assorted Acts of Violence)

* * *

"Why have you been avoiding me, Anthony?"

Pagan felt panic course down her spine, and fought it back with effort.

"I've been doing no such thing," she replied coolly. "If I had, I wouldn't be here right now."

Frustration was written on every inch of his handsome face. "Damn it, Anthony, tell me!"

"If this is all you asked me here for," she said in clipped tones. "I think I'll leave."

She turned to go, but Sirius had his wand on her before she got another step, with a muttered "_Petrificus Totalus_!"

Frozen, she could do nothing but glare at him as he steadied her body against the wall of the corridor.

"Don't look at me like that," he said smoothly, and now his face was blank. "All I wanted was the answer."

She continued to glare, but he assumed that she would've said something along the lines of "What right do _you_ have?"—though perhaps not quite as clean—if she could've.

"I don't do well when people whom I trust up and ignore me without a _reason_," he said. "It feels a bit like manipulation."

Pagan struggled with the spell, fighting for control of her limbs, pushing her magic through the force containing her, until finally, with a gasp, she managed to throw it off. She staggered against the wall, but that didn't stop her from spitting, "You egotistic _bastard_!" in Sirius' face, then wrenching her hand back to slap the nearest bit of him that she could reach. The blow landed on his stomach, and he doubled over slightly, one hand flying towards the forming bruise, but his hard expression didn't so much as flicker.

"My life doesn't revolve around yours," she continued venomously. "What the fuck makes you think I'd take the effort to avoid you? I don't know what's wrong with you, but stop inventing stories to soothe yourself and your paranoid ego! It's not my problem if you can't put some trust in people—you think I'd try to _manipulate_ you?! What could I possible fucking want from such a pathetic pile of…of shit?!"

His face hardened into stone, and his lips pulled up into a sneer until she could've sworn it was Lucius Malfoy himself in front of her. "Don't shit yourself, Anthony. I don't spend my time thinking up stories to accuse you with—I only asked a question, a question that I already knew the answer to anyways. I know you've been avoiding me, and I know you want something from me—do you think you're going to get it? Because that would be the funniest thing I've heard in a while. I may be a _pathetic pile of shit_ but I'm not stupid, Anthony—I know when I'm being lied to, and when I'm being played like a fucking pawn."

"You're insane," she said flatly, ignoring the pounding of her heart against her ribs. "You're insane—you attacked me, cursed me, accused me. Fuck you, Black, _you_ played _me_. You pulled that stunt in Charms to push me into reacting to you; is this what you want?! Bloody attention? I know you, Black—all you want is attention and a fuck. That's what I mean to you, right? You're _disgusting_."

"I'm glad to hear your _glowing_ review of me," he spat. "You don't fucking know me at all, so don't pretend to brilliance, Anthony. I don't know what your fucking problem is—_you_ started avoiding me for no bloody reason, and I only wanted to know why—because I thought _I_ might've done something. But no, it turns out you're just a fucking bitch, aren't you? You think you know all about me, you think you know who I am and what I want, but you're ignorant about anything important, so in the future, I'd thank you to know what you're saying before you say it."

"How _dare_ you," she hissed back. "You're the one who destroyed all my work so that you could exact your petty little vengeance! You're the one who thinks he knows everything—who thinks that he can get away with anything and everything and everyone will still _adore_ him. I'm fucking sick of your shit, Black, of your self-righteous snobbery and gigantic ego!!!"

"For Merlin's _sake_," Sirius snapped. "I meant to bloody apologize for whatever I'd done to you, to stop your attempts to _get_ an apology out of me!"

"I don't _want_ an apology from you, Black, unless you're apologizing for what a gigantically detestable prat you are!!!"

"Sorry to disappoint," he snarled. "But that's not happening until you apologize for what a bloody bitch _you_ are!!!"

She glared at him, her chest heaving with anger, and he returned the look with interest, but neither of them spoke for a moment, catching their breaths after screaming at the top of their lungs. The silence was heavy and dark with anger and frustration and betrayal.

"Well then," she said finally, her face stony. "Is this it, Black?"

Sirius didn't respond, only nodded curtly at her in goodbye, and stalked off towards the common room.

* * *

Pagan skidded around the corner, racing towards the Prefect's bathroom down the corridor.

_Please, Merlin, let no one be in there_.

"Acorns," she gasped at the door, praying that the password hadn't changed since her last boyfriend, Ravenclaw Prefect Samuel Boot, had given it to her. The door, perhaps sensing her desperation, smoothly slid open, and she darted inside, checking quickly to make sure no one was there. She lunged for the counter, and turned on all taps to make sure _nobody_ heard her before letting the hot, angry tears stream down her face.

"Bastardbastardbastardbastard," she chanted, before looking up and glaring at her reflection in the mirror. She roughly splashed water on her face, then wiped it off, trying to will the traitorous tears away, but they wouldn't stop. The girl in the mirror looked back at her through red, raw eyes. "And _you_. I can't believe you…you…"

She couldn't, through sheer mortification, quite bring herself to finish the sentence aloud, even alone, but her stupid, stupid brain refused to let her forget and filled in all the blanks.

_He was right, he was so right,_ said brain taunted her. _You_ were _avoiding him_. _You_ were _trying to get him do what _you _wanted him to do_. _You were trying to get him to say that you _did _mean something to him, you stupid girl. You should've known better than to try to play Sirius Black like that, he knows every bloody trick in the book. Did you honestly think you could pull it off? He's never going to stop laughing at you and your clumsy attempts to get him to notice your silence. You say you couldn't stop yourself? Pathetic excuse, girl, pathetic excuse. _

A hot blush of fury and embarrassment swept through her.

_That doesn't give him the right to do any of the shit he did!_ she spat back at herself, too perturbed to notice that she was arguing with her own brain.

_I can't blame him_, her brain responded serenely. _I mean, you're so bloody obvious, it's no wonder he's pissed. You two _did_ have an agreement. Physical only._

_Obvious about_ what_?_

_The fact that you want his attention now, you brainless twit_.

Pagan banged her forehead against the mirror, once, twice, then again, trying to kill the terrible, hideous, utterly fucking impossible thought. _The_ hell _I do!!!_ _I'm not one of his idiot fangirls!!!_

_Hey, you got him to notice. He asked you why you were avoiding him, but it wasn't good enough, was it? You wanted him to know what was wrong, you wanted him to know you. That doesn't sound so physical to me, babe, _her brain replied smugly.

You don't know what you're talking about. I just wanted him to be able to…

_To be able to what? _her brain asked snidely.

_I just…goddamnit!_

_Sounds like you wanted his attention to me!_ her brain said gleefully.

"I don't!!!" she yelled at her reflection, but the girl in the mirror, complete with a large red mark on her forehead, could not assure her either way.

"Uhh…excuse me?" a small voice asked behind her, and Pagan whirled around, ready to curse the dickens out of whomever had disturbed her.

It was a scrawny fifth year prefect, looking rather frightened.

"Leave. Now." Pagan said through gritted teeth. The boy bolted out of the room without any further urging, and Pagan sighed, leaning against one of the sinks. At least the interruption had gotten rid of her brain's irritating internal lecture. It hadn't, however, changed anything else.

Now she was short one friend, one fuck buddy, one Sirius Black, just because she couldn't let go of how, apparently, she was worth less than a week of look out duty. She _was_ pathetic. She couldn't even straighten out how she felt about the entire fiasco, couldn't figure out why she'd reacted the way she had—she _had_ gotten what she wanted, after all. He'd asked her what was wrong. Why hadn't it been enough to satisfy her?

But _really_, it was his fault too. And, honestly, was Peaches N' Cream _really_ the best stripper name he could come up with?!

* * *

"_Reducto_!"

_Divining Destiny: A Sixth Year Text_ blasted apart into a million pieces.

"_Reducto_!"

This time it was _The Sixth Year Spellbook: Charming the Charmed_.

Sirius caught a hunk of the binding as it flew towards his face, then hurled it out the open window of the dorm.

"Damn it!" he muttered to himself, plopping down on his unmade bed. "Damn everything to hell!"

He moodily watched the last few bits of book flutter to the ground.

He had meant to ask her _calmly_ why she'd been avoiding him, meant to wheedle and carefully extract the answer from her, to remain cool and collected. He had _not_ meant for it to morph into a violent argument that had left him sans one Anthony and blasting apart Moony's books for relief.

How the hell had it turned around so fast?!

It had been that bloody look on her face when she'd turned to leave him in the corridor, the icy, imperious look that had said _you just don't get it, do you? You're just not good enough._ It was the same look he saw on Regulus' face every time he stepped off the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross.

It drove him abso-bloody-lutely insane, made the blood run hot and fast through his veins and pound through his body.

He prided himself on being a slow burn, but something about what had happened today drove him past his limit. Anthony wasn't like this. She had never once before tried to contort him to her will—and he _knew_ that was what she had been trying to do. He could feel it in the glances she shot him from the opposite end of the Great Hall, the way her mouth tightened when he did not glance back, but watched with the very edge of his vision. He had waited and waited, hoping that she'd cave and come to him, but with everyday that she didn't he'd felt his blood start to heat, until he'd snapped.

That morning he'd slept in, leisurely strolled down to the kitchens for a late brunch, taken his time in the shower, all the while gritting his teeth against the waves of irritation. Then, with an almost perverse kind of pleasure, he'd walked into Charms, set a few papers on fire, and watched the horror and anger sweep across her face, watched her pale blue eyes narrow. And he'd felt satisfied, because he'd gotten what he wanted—he'd gotten her to react. He knew enough of her disposition to predict that she'd show up later that night, if only to try and murder him.

But that was where his plan had gotten completely blasted into little, tiny bits, in the manner of the spellbooks he was currently destroying.

According to his plan, he was supposed to carefully get her to admit that she was wrong, to apologize. Then he would gracefully acknowledge the apology, and they'd go off and shag wildly. And everything would be peachy keen, handy dandy, absolutely perfect.

But he was Sirius Black, and damn it, he of all people should've known that nothing ever goes as planned.

* * *

Chapter Six and a Half: A Lily and James Interlude

* * *

"Evans!" he called, sliding to a graceful stop in front of her desk, and winking to a few fourth years seated at a table behind her, who giggled furiously. "How're the suits of armor treating you? I've devised a new spell so that they don't accidentally whack too hard and knock you over—,"

"Potter," she said flatly, already irritated. She impatiently brushed a strand of thick, dark red hair behind her ear, and said, "What do you want? I've got a Transfiguration essay."

"I need you!"

She glared at him. "No, Potter, for the millionth time, I will _not_ go out with you.

A small smirk crossed his lips. "Good thing I'm not asking, then..."

The fourth years, who were ostentatiously eavesdropping, tittered madly.

Lily felt a faint flush of embarrassment cross her pale cheeks, and cleared her throat loudly. "What is it, then?"

"Cresswell's got dragonpox, and I need you to fill in for him," he said smoothly, as if he was asking her to borrow a pen, or something _sane_ like that.

"You must be _joking_," she said. "I am not going to fill in for Cresswell. Get whoever's on reserve to do it. It _is_ their job."

"Marks is reserve, but she's got food poisoning--Sirius accidentally left out some...well..."

"If you don't want detention, don't tell me," said Lily, in a rare act of mercy that was at odds with the vaguely murderous look on her face.

"So will you do it, Lilylovely?" he asked eagerly.

"Absolutely not!"

"Evans! Please?!" he implored.

"_No_, Potter!"

"Come on! It's for the good of the entire House!"

"No you moronic bucket of bubotuber puss."

"You're being selfish! Please please please?"

"No, no, _no_! Go get someone else and leave me alone!"

"Li-_lyyy_. I'll do anything! You know you're the best! And we _have_ to own this one!" he said, a slight note of desperation in his voice.

She peered shrewdly at him over the edge of the book she'd propped up between herself and James, who'd seated himself across from her.

"If you don't quiet down, Pince'll skin you alive," she said mildly.

"Evans!!!" he hollered at the top of his lungs.

She sighed deeply. "You'll do anything?"

"_Any-fucking-thing..._afterwards. Except, you know, something that'll deprive me of my Marauders. Or Quidditch."

One corner of her lips tilted up. "Alright, Potter. I'll be your damn Seeker for this one match, but after that, _you_ owe me."

* * *

Lily spun her broom over experimentally, then swung one leg over it.

"How long has it been since you've been on one?" asked James.

She shot him a look. "You're the one that insisted on having _me_ be the Seeker. If you're going to complain, get someone else."

"No, no," he said hastily, sensing danger. "That's not what I meant. You're still the best, Evans, of course. I still don't bloody know why you quit, your style was fantastic and you could've been great."

"I decided Quidditch wasn't nearly as important, as, you know, grades," she said dryly.

James gaped at her as if she'd just announced her decision to elope with a mountain troll named Pfleghem the Unhygienic. "What are you talking about?!" he spluttered. "Quidditch is _much_ more important than _grades_! What are you going to do with that O you got in Charms? Stare at it until it tap dances?!"

"I'm going to become a bloody Healer, that's what," she snapped. "What are _you_ going to do with your bloody Nimbus 1000?"

"Play for England, of course," James answered promptly. "Scouts from different teams will be at Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, my da's asked them, and Dumbly agreed."

"Gryffindor vs. Slytherin?" asked Lily. "Wait--isn't that the match you're asking me to play in?" Realization was breaking across her face. "_Potter_!!!"

James hastily backed away. "What?! I didn't do anything!!!"

"You're asking me to play so that you can show off your blasted team for those scouts!!! Don't tell me you deliberately got rid of Cresswell and Marks!!!"

"Evans!!!" he said indignantly. "I wouldn't--,"

"Don't bother," she said. "You would."

"I _didn't_, Evans, I swear!"

"_Potter_!!!"

"For Merlin's sake, why would I do that?!"

"Because you think I'm better than Cresswell and Marks!"

For the first time, a hint of irritation shadowed James' features, and instantly, the open charm so inherent in his face faded a little. "Come off it, Evans. I trained them both myself, went over hours and hours of strategy with them, played with them in game after game. They're my_team_. Nothing, not even raw talent, could replace that, got it?" She could almost see him add _And _I'm _the egotistic one?_

Lily was stunned into momentary silence as a mortified blush spread across her cheeks. James never took a tone other than 'adoring' or 'wheedling' or 'amusing' with her. There was a strange kind of tension radiating from him, and she felt so uncomfortable with it--it wasn't like the Potter she'd known and hated for years. And there was real conviction in his tone. Perhaps she shouldn't have jumped to conclusions so quickly. But damn it, since when was James anything other than mischievous?

"Look," he said, looking a bit put out when she didn't respond. "I didn't mean to be so sharp, but I'm the captain of the team, and if you think I'd ever hurt my teammates, you've got another thing coming. Cresswell or Marks would've played their best to help me out with the scouts, I know they would've."

"I'm--I'm sorry," Lily said, willing her cheeks to calm down. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I know I haven't played in a long time, and I'm probably not very good any longer, but I'll try my best."

He looked a little surprised at her apology (or the lack of a glare, which accompanied nearly everything she said to him) and her offer, but she was gratified to see that the hardness had left his face.

"It's no problem," he said, and turned to face the goal posts, shading his eyes with one hand.

The odd tension disappeared as if it'd never been, and, with relief, she felt them fall back into their familiar routine of biting comments and impish joking.

"So," he continued. "Get on the broom and we'll see what you've got, Evans."

"Prepare yourself," she said lightly, and he grinned at her. She pushed off the ground, feeling the air rush around her, caressing her skin and making her robes billow, and threw her head back in a startled, delighted little laugh. She hadn't known she'd missed flying, but at that moment, she knew that all those hours spent in the library, poring over books, had _nothing_ on this feeling.

James' hazel eyes followed her path, tracing the lithe line of her body gripping the broom, the tangles of her bright hair blowing in the wind, the happy smile that lit up her face. _She is bloody gorgeous_, he thought to himself for the trillionth time. _Really, really bloody gorgeous_.

She flew over him, and he could see her hair reflect tints of bright gold.

"Hey, Evans!" he called cheekily, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Wanna actually try some _flying_ now?!"

* * *

**A/N**: I'm grinning like an idiot right now, L/J makes me so happy. Drop me a REVIEW and tell me how you like the P/S angst and the L/J fluff and the (super long) update!!!


	7. Because Her Knickers Aren't Frilly

**The Varying Degrees of Smackitude**

By RH

* * *

**A/N**: This chapter is a little more lighthearted after the last one. Enjoy! There are also some scattered Author's Notes notated by bold numbers, but those are only tidbits that you don't have to interrupt your reading for xD

Disclaimer: I don't own HP, and I am not affiliated with Rise Against, although it is their song "The Good Left Undone" that appears (or will appear) every few chapters, and that inspired me to write this story, so kudos to them B)

* * *

Chapter Seven: Because Her Knickers Aren't Frilly

* * *

"Paige, when was the last time you talked to him?"

"Dorcas, leave it alone."

"Not for a lifetime's supply of Honeydukes and the chance to see the Falmouth Falcons play shirtless."

"Not even for the Falcons? But all those concussions they dish out must give them some great biceps. And just think of the _abs_ all those bloodstained robes conceal." **(1)**

There was a moment of silence.

"All right, maybe I would for the chance to see them play shirtless. Or just for the chance to see them shirtless, period. You haven't anything on their Keeper, darling, I'm sorry."

"I'm not sorry, the man looks like the lovechild of a hairless, pathologically depressed goat and my great-uncle Rufus—the one who only wears long underwear and refuses to eat anything except lard and bowtruckle legs."

"That is a _lie_! He's a tortured soul misunderstood by a cruel world who cannot release his innermost thoughts except through physical violence."

"Hippogriff shit. He's a fat pig that enjoys smashing people's heads together."

"_Pagan_! When was the last time you talked to him, for Merlin's sake?!"

"Who, the Falmouth Falcons' Keeper? Never spoken to him, I'd probably die of asphyxiation before I got close enough to, I heard he sweats something terrible."

"Anthony, I'm _this_ close to telling our entire year why the fifth floor girl's bathroom smelled like burnt cheese and marshmallows for three weeks in third year."

There was another moment of silence.

"Dorcas Meadows, that was a cheap move."

"Whatever I have to do…"

"That was a _really_ cheap move, you cow."

"I'm sure Sirius would enjoy knowing that—,"

"It's been three days, damn you."

Dorcas peered at her witheringly over her sunglasses, recently acquired for their Bloody Hell, Winter's Coming, You Arshole Mother Nature Day (which basically entailed lying by the lake in their bathing suits, trying to catch the last rays of autumn sunshine without freezing their arses off).

"What?" Pagan said, shifting so that the other side of her body was in the sunlight, and adjusting her own sunglasses.

"I thought you were going to apologize to him, you skinny-arse slimy coward!" Dorcas said, flipping her pale blonde hair over her shoulder and glaring at Pagan through narrowed brown eyes.

Pagan snorted. "I never said I would, and _he_ started it."

"I fail to see how that's true," retorted Dorcas. "You were the one that suggested being shag buddies only in the first place, and all he's doing is abiding strictly to that!"

"He set our project on fire!!!"

"Then get him to apologize for that! Do you really want to lose him because of this fiasco?"

"Dorcas, _he is a bastard_."

"Well, you were being an awful ninny. I'd say it evens out."

"Aren't you supposed to be on my side?!"

"Nope," she smiled mischievously and lay back down on her towel. "Come on, Paige, you know you were wrong too. Now it's your choice—are you willing to lose a friend? Maybe forever?"

* * *

"Oi, Mooonyyy!"

Remus Lupin ignored Sirius' irritating voice, and kissed Emmeline again, feeling her smile indulgently against his lips. He was lucky to have her—she'd been his first and only crush, and, being a Muggleborn, had even stuck with him after figuring out his furry little problem.

"Moony!"

"You better answer, Remus, he sounds like he might blow something up," whispered Emmeline, taking care not to reveal their hiding place behind the tapestry.

Remus frowned, but called back to Sirius long-sufferingly, "What, Padfoot?"

"I need you to come with me!" Sirius said impatiently.

"Why?"

"Prongs and Evans! They're on the pitch!"

Emmeline rolled her eyes, and Remus responded, "I will absolutely not go spy on them with you."

Sirius muttered a few choice words, sounding much more ill tempered than usual, and Remus heard him stomp off down the corridor.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Emmeline. Remus shrugged, looking a little perturbed.

"He's been in a terrible mood these last few days, though he still goes through all his usual motions. It's almost painful to watch—he's acting like Sirius instead of being Sirius. James couldn't get much out of him, and even Prongs has started listening to his requests and leaving him be."

Emmeline frowned sympathetically. "Maybe some trouble with…who's he shagging now?"

"The last time I checked, he was snogging Pagan Anthony, but you won't catch me betting on their relationship."

"Oh?"

"They say they're shag buddies, but a couple days ago the idiot was blasting apart my textbooks and muttering about her."

"Blasting apart books?!" Emmeline winced a little.

"I know," he sighed. "I didn't have the heart to lecture him, though, I hardly ever see him look like that."

* * *

Sirius was slumped against one of the pitch stands, watching the tiny dots otherwise known as Evans and Prongs flit around the sky. He didn't bother looking up when he heard footsteps approaching, assuming that it was Moony coming to check on him at last. He tried to think up a scathing retort about Moon choosing Emmeline over him, but really, he just was not in the mood.

"Black?"

Definitely not Remus Lupin. "What?" he asked, still not looking around.

Pagan, with immense effort, held back an indignant snap. _Remember, you're trying to apologize. Be the bigger person,_ she told herself.

"Could we talk?" she asked tensely.

"Funny, I remember asking you that."

"You sent bloody Potter to do that, you tosser," snapped Pagan. Really, there was only so much she could hold back.

That remark made Sirius look round at her, and she noted that his gray eyes darker than she remembered. "What do you want, Anthony?"

"Well," she said, trying to choke back her irritation. "I came to say…that…"

_Oh go on, you coward_.

"That?"

"That I'm bloody sorry for trying to get you to be less of an arsehole than you are," she finished with ill grace.

In spite of the edge on her words, Sirius saw the genuine apology in her face, what she was really trying to say but could not put into words—her pride would not let her, and really, could he blame her? She had already swallowed enough of her ego to come and apologize—he wasn't an idiot, he knew her well enough to know how strong her stubborn streak could run. It had cost her something to come, cost her something to attempt to mend things with him. The bad mood that had been hovering around him recently lightened to more of a light fog, and after a moment, he sent her an appraising glance.

"What?" she asked warily. "Aren't you going to say something? Perhaps about the fact that you destroyed my Charms grade?"

Sirius leant back against the stands with an air of easy grace. "Hmmmm?" he drawled, watching her reaction. The light fog lessened to slightly overcast.

Pagan immediately bristled, and moved to stomp away, but Sirius hastily sat back up, and said, "Wait, Anthony, I was just _joking_, Merlin. Keep your frilly knickers on."

"Well?" she said frostily. "I'm listening."

"I'm…ugh…are you really going to make me say it? Marauders never—,"

"Black, I managed to apologize, the least you could do is spit out one measly—,"

"Well you _did_ start it—,"

"_You made Flitwick break out in purple pustules with begonias sprouting out of_—,"

"Alright, I'm sorry!"

"And my knickers _aren't_ frilly."

"Right. Your knickers aren't frilly. Sorry."

She beamed at him. "Well, that was much less painful than I thought it would be."

He barked a laugh, and reached for her lazily, every sign of ill weather on his disposition dissipating in the face of brilliant summer sunshine. "Does this mean I get make-up se—,"

"I'll think about it."

* * *

Pagan peeked over the edge of the bleacher seat, and squinted at the two figures zooming around.

"Black, is there a particular reason why you've got to spy on Potter and Lily?" she asked. "Or a particular reason why I've got to come?"

"Well," Sirius said in all seriousness. "I've got to be here just in case he needs a wingman. And you're here because wingmen need a wingman."

"A wingman."

"In case of attempted decapitation, castration, poisoning, deafening, blinding, disemboweling, hexing, jinxing, cursing, torturing, being-eaten-by-a-hungry-house-elf-ing, or other forms of pain. Or death. Or ruination."

"In other words, you're a nosy bastard, aren't you?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes at Pagan. "You make me sound so distasteful."

Pagan rolled her eyes. "I'm sure Lily wouldn't like it if she knew that every second she spent with James Potter was being surveyed by you."

Sirius scoffed. "Anyone would be flattered by…holy Acid Pops!"

"What?" Pagan whipped around to look at the distant figures, but nothing special seemed to be happening.

"You!!!! You can help Prongs!"

"Pardon?"

"You can get Lily to admit how she _really_ feels about him!"

"Sirius," said Pagan gently. "I'm sorry to break this to you, but I'm pretty sure she hates his guts, as displayed by the daily displays of pain she confers unto Potter."

"Oh," said Sirius dismissively. "She just hasn't come to terms with it yet. It'll get there. But what I'm saying is, _you_ could hurry it along if you talked to her and got her to admit it!"

Pagan sighed. "Sirius, I really don't know Lily that well. Why don't you ask one of her best friends? I'm sure you've slept with at least one of them."

"Every time I broach the subject, they look at me like I've just announced my candidacy for Head Boy."

"I wonder why," said Pagan dryly. "Sirius, by all appearances, she _really hates him_."

"Oh yeah? Then why does it look like they've suddenly decided to occupy the same pair of trousers?"

* * *

**(1)** According to JKR, the motto of the Falmouth Falcons is "Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads."

**Long winded sidenote about Remus/Emmeline:** I always thought of Moony as low-key and mild, as someone who would count himself as lucky to have a girlfriend that understood him and his problem, and as someone whose love life at a school where he always thirsted to conform would be content, if relatively uneventful compared to Sirius' or James'. Therefore, there won't be a whole lot of Emmeline in this story, because her love story, though warm and sweet, has basically already been told. Remus' relationship is more of what makes him Remus—intelligent and quiet and an anchor, in contrast with James' and Sirius' more volatile dispositions and relationships. I'm not saying he's in any way an inferior character, just different—and besides, we know the excitement comes in later, with Tonks, right? ;)

**A/N**: Hope to hear from you guys (sorry for the slight cliffhanger!!!), and if you want to know how I visualize the characters (including Pagan), **check out my profile for links to images**.


	8. Lily and James Share Trousers

**T****he Varying Degrees of Smackitude**

By RH

* * *

**A/N**: Please, _please_ review? Haha, maybe I sound ungrateful, but there is such a huge disparity between hits and reviews that I have been driven to this author's note ;) If you read all the way through, please just leave me a few words; I don't care if they're compliments or flames, but I need feedback to guide this story, as I write everything spontaneously. When I don't get any reviews, I kind of just poke around and produce sup-par results…

(And I am so sorry this is later than the usual weekend update!)

* * *

Chapter Eight: Lily and James Share Trousers (According to Sirius, Anyways)

* * *

Recap:

"_You can get Lily to admit how she really feels about him!"_

"_Sirius," said Pagan gently. "I'm sorry to break this to you, but I'm pretty sure she hates his guts, as displayed by the daily displays of pain she confers unto Potter."_

"_Oh," said Sirius dismissively. "She just hasn't come to terms with it yet. It'll get there. But what I'm saying is, you could hurry it along if you talked to her and got her to admit it!"_

_Pagan sighed. "Sirius, I really don't know Lily that well. Why don't you ask one of her best friends? I'm sure you've slept with at least one of them."_

"_Every time I broach the subject, they look at me like I've just announced my candidacy for Head Boy."_

"_I wonder why," said Pagan dryly. "Sirius, by all appearances, she really hates him."_

"_Oh yeah? Then why does it look like they've suddenly decided to occupy the same pair of trousers?"_

_

* * *

_

Lily stared intently at the little golden ball in James' hand.

"Any day now," he drawled, and she fixed him with a stony look. He sighed, but shut up.

She continued to stare, trying to will her brain to snap back into Seeker mode. _Come on, brain. It can't be that hard. Find the little shiny ball. Find it. Find it._

But no, her brain was not being cooperative. Her old grace on a broomstick was not returning, nor were her Seeker instincts.

She sighed, and James stopped tapping his fingers impatiently against his broomstick handle to raise an eyebrow at her.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm trying to get myself into the correct frame of mind, but I am less than successful," she said.

James stared at her incredulously, his brows drawing together over his hazel eyes.

"What?" she said shortly, bracing for the coming criticism.

"You can't be serious," he said.

"I assure you, Potter, I am completely serious," she said, offended. "_You_ should've known what you were getting into. I haven't played Quidditch since second year. You can't expect me to—,"

"That's not what I mean, Evans!" he corrected himself hastily, his eyes widening. "No, I don't expect you to…it's just, you're _approaching_ this all wrong."

She glanced at him warily. "And how do you suggest I _approach_ this, Potter?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't approach it."

"Potter, you are making less sense than that bloke who tried to train trolls for the ballet."

"Barnabas the Barmy."

"Right—wait, since when do you pay attention in History of Magic?!"

"Never you mind," he said quickly. "But what I mean is that you're _thinking_ too much."

"Somebody's got to make up for your deficiency," she said dryly.

He pouted at her barb, but continued, eager to prove his point. "You've got to stop analyzing and trying to _make_ your mind do it. It won't listen to you—you've got to just _do_ it, and let yourself feel the rush of it. Let yourself slip into being a Seeker instead of forcing yourself into being a Seeker. Here, give me your hand."

Lily glanced down at the grass fifty feet below her, then at her hands clutching her broomstick, then at James' expectant face. "You must be _daft_."

"Only a little," he said, and reached for her again, so that his outstretched palm was right in front of her hands. She carefully examined his face. A little smile flickered around the edges of his lips, but his hazel eyes, flecked with gold and green, were serious as they locked on her face.

She edged one of her hands slowly off her broomstick, which gave a little wobble in response, and lifted it to meet James'.

"Relax." His voice was quiet in her ear. His hand, bigger and rough with calluses, wrapped around hers for a second, and Lily was suddenly having trouble breathing correctly. All the air in her lungs seemed to have made a beeline for her throat as she stared at his hand wrapped around hers, his heartbeat steady and loud so close to her ear.

Lily cleared her throat quickly. "Alright, so now what?" She chanced another glance down at the grass _so bloody far_ below.

James' grasp on her hand tightened for a moment, and she looked up, caught between surprise and more throat-blockage, but the moment passed as he suddenly pushed her away from him in one quick movement.

Lily's gasp was inaudible as she went hurtling back from James, who had been propelled back too, but had quickly righted himself with a slight touch to his broom. Lily, however, seemed to have forgotten what a broomstick was, and maintained her white-knuckled one-handed grasp on her broom while mentally cursing James Bloody Arsehole Tosser Wanker Toerag Potter into the deepest, darkest, most-Quidditch-and-Dungbomb-deprived pits of Hell.

"Lily!"

"You _wanker_!" she tried to scream back, but all she could concentrate on was the wind whistling past her at an alarming rate.

"_Let go_, Lily!"

She looked down at her hands, and _Is Potter a homicidal maniac?!_ pulsed through her brain more than once.

"Not your _broom_, let go of your freakish mental blocks!"

"I'm going to _kill_ you, Potter!" She wasn't sure if he'd heard her this time either, but was satisfied that the look on her face was getting the message across.

"Lily, if you don't, I'm going to tell our entire year that you went to Puddifoot's with me and had some fun with my _biscotti_, if you know what I me—,"

"JAMES POTTER!!!" Enraged, Lily pulled the broomstick sharply up, and with a sharp jerk, sent it hurtling again, this time at a black-robed figure in the near distance.

James made a sound vaguely reminiscent of a baby Kneazle being masticated by a large, unfriendly ghoul and belatedly realized that roughly one hundred and fifteen pounds of Angry Redhead (Genus _Evans_, Species _Lily_) was about to masticate him herself.

He jerked back as she came crashing into him, their brooms colliding lengthwise with an angry _crack!_ and somehow, her elbow was in his solar plexus and her bright red hair was suffocating him, and she seemed to be pounding on his kneecaps with a fist.

"Gargh—Evans—fwessh—hair—arrrgghhhh!" he got out between mouthfuls of hair, but she only made an angry snorting sort of noise (honestly, this being Evans, it was still kind of attractive) and redoubled her attempts to remove his patella.

* * *

"Sirius," Pagan said.

Sirius ignored her and continued to do his (patent pending) Hooray for Sirius, the Most Awesomest, Handsomest, Virilest, Good-Smelling-est and Other Good Stuff-est Wizard Ever dance. To Pagan, it looked like a cross between river dancing and an angry, hairy Chimera emptying his bowels while playing croquet, but she kept that observation to herself.

"_Sirius_."

"Anthony, stop ruining this moment for me!" Sirius cackled. "I, Sirius Black, _am right_! At long last! TAKE THAT, DOUBTERS OF SIRIUS BLACK! Do you hear me, _Remus Lupin_?! I am _right_!!!"

"Not really."

Sirius stopped mid-hop-slash-kick and whipped around to glare at her. "Anthony, I assure you, your bitterness is not appreciated in the vicinity of the Sirius Black Correctness Zone. It is simply not correct enough."

"Black, you daft bugger, take a closer look at Evans and Potter, please," Pagan said slowly and carefully, making sure each word reached Black's brain behind its remarkably thick layer of protective barriers erected in case Reality should ever try to penetrate.

Sirius pushed his lips out in thought for a moment before deciding that the effort and time away from his dance was worth the pleasure of rubbing this even harder in Pagan's face.

He squinted his eyes a little, then tilted his head to the side, then peered in the direction that Pagan was helpfully pointing out.

"Holy Bertie Botts!" Sirius shrieked suddenly, and Pagan, who had been secure in the fact that she would shortly be able to gloat about Sirius' obvious incorrectness, jumped.

"_What_?" she snapped, checking to make sure that Lily and James were not, in fact, sharing trousers but instead having what appeared to be a bar brawl mid-air.

"Jamie, Jamie, Jamie," Sirius continued, oblivious to her question, and with a note of reverence in his voice. "Oh dear Sugar Quills, look at that boy go! And to think, I thought he lacked a pair! Well! Pagan, m'dear, this is truly remarkable!"

"What in the name of magic are you blathering on about, Sirius?!"

"Can't you see?! They're shagging fifty feet above the ground!!! Even _I_ haven't attempted that yet!!! But Evans and Prongs are utterly fearless!!!"

Pagan banged her head against the seats in front of them in the stands once, twice, then once more.

"Please, Merlin, increase Sirius' intelligence level to Daft…Please, Merlin, increase Sirius' intelligence level to Daft…Please—," she muttered under her breath.

"Pagan, what _are_ you muttering about?" Sirius said reprovingly, peering down at her head-destructing activities.

She grabbed at his chin, then wrenched his head—"OWWWWWW!!!!!"—so that he could see Lily and James again.

"SIRIUS!" she bellowed into his ear. "They are _not_ _shagging_. THEY ARE KILLING EACH OTHER."

"What are you _on_ about?!" Sirius blustered. "Anthony, you're giving me the most awful crick in my neck—,"

"_Look at them_!!!"

"Alright, Merlin!!!!" Sirius glanced at James and Lily again, and noted the rhythmic whipping of the fiery red hair, and the scuffling around of the bodies. "Honestly, Pagan, we should be giving them a little privacy!!!"

Pagan whipped out her wand, and stabbed it in the general direction of Sirius' eyeballs ("BLOODY HELL, ANTHONY, YOU'RE GOING TO BLIND ME!!!).

"_Exagerum_!" she hissed, and Sirius felt as if he'd suddenly slipped on a pair of Omnioculars. James and Lily were getting closer and closer, until, suddenly, he could count the little connecty things on James' fly, which was, in fact, up.

* * *

**A/N**: Ah, Sirius, how I love you so.

Remember what I said at the beginning: If you guys don't review, I basically take forever to update because (1) I don't really have the heart to, seeing as it doesn't seem like anyone's going to see it and (2) because I really have no effing idea where to take the story next. I make this up as I go along, folks, with help from you ;)

(I used to think authors who wrote these sorts of notes were kind of ungrateful, but seriously guys, I am getting to see how frustrating this is. The amount of hits vs. the amount of reviews is making me bash my head against my monitor.)

SO YEAH, REVIEW PLEASE!!!


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